We Leave You With Nothing But Empty Graves
by Wisperwind
Summary: What if, instead of Stiles, Scott was the one the Nogitsune possessed? Dark-fic, Graphic depiction of violence.


Stiles has had his hopes up until that moment. He'd thought they'd fix it somehow. Eventually. He had foolishly let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, it could be over already.

After all, Scott was back, right? And they were fixing the things he'd done when he'd been possessed. It wasn't his fault, none of it was. Not Isaac, not Coach, not the explosion at the station. (Though if that one had gotten his dad, Stiles doesn't know if he'd be able to be so understanding.)

But now it's nightfall and he hears the clicking, chirping sound of the Oni and they're fucked. They are so fucked.

Kira has her sword and Stiles has his new bat (pure aluminium this time, can't get magnetised) but neither will do much in the long run.

Scott can't fight.

He's the one they want after all.

Kira is their best defense, Stiles isn't shy to admit, but she has a hard time fighting off four Oni on her own. Stiles himself has his bat raised and his back to Scott who is fumbling with his keys, trying to open the door to Deaton's clinic. They need to get inside, behind the mountain ash lined walks, so that they can at least get a little more time, some room to breathe, just a minute to _think_. Stiles can come up with a plan, but he can't do it under this constant and very tangible threat of death.

Kira has a cut on her face and she's panting hard enough that Stiles can hear it over the icy, pattering rain. His fingers are numb. Whether that's because of the cold or the painfully tight grip he keeps on his bat, he can't be sure.

Behind him Scott curses and not a second later one of the Oni slips past Kira and charges at Scott's open back.

Stiles doesn't think. He throws himself forward, swinging the bat with all the strength desperation and adrenaline have bestowed upon him. It crashes into the side of the demon's head with a loud and resounding 'clank!' - or it would have if the thing didn't suddenly go intangible.

Instead the bat passes right through the monster's face, slips out of his hand and clatters against the tarmac, several feet away. Stiles, overbalanced by the force of his swing, stumbles and falls. Next, a few things happen very fast.

First, as he falls, there's another weird sensation, like being pushed backwards and a slight sting in his abdomen.

Then he hears the click of the lock behind him louder than he possibly should have been able to.

He sees Kira turn towards him and her eyes widen as she sees him go down and he hears both her voice and Scott's shout his name at the same time.

Then he looks down and there is an explosion of agony.

There is a sword sticking out of his stomach. There is a _sword_ sticking out of his stomach. There is a swordsticking out of his _stomach._

 _There is a sword sticking out of his stomach._

Stiles can't even scream because the air in his lungs has turned to acid. He's burning, withering from the inside out and there is so much pain. So much.

There are hands on him moments later and he vaguely hears Kira's battle cry and then a door closing and he's somewhere else.

The room is dark and Stiles' vision is blurring. He sees the outline of shelves and someone's feet on linoleum flooring. Then he doesn't see anything at all because Scott has just leaned him against the stainless steel table and jostled the blade by doing so.

This time Stiles does scream.

It hurts. It hurts so much he can't breathe. He can't think. All he can do is scream until there is no more air in his lungs.

His eyes are shut and he sees bright red stars exploding behind his closed eyelids. His hands are clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into his palms. His entire body is one long line on tension and suffering.

It takes a while for the pain to subside enough so that Stiles can open his eyes again and when he does he feels like throwing up.

Scott is staring at him with a smirk and a strangely mad shine in his eyes.

He should have known. He should have seen it. Where was his trusty paranoia this morning when Scott had turned up at the school, shaken and jittery, but alive? The twins had had more sense than him. God, he's so fucking stupid.

"Scott never came back, did he," he says. It's a statement, not a question because it's all so clear now. They've been played.

The smirk on Scott's face only widens. It looks foreign there in its cruelty. Scott has never been cruel in his life. Wouldn't know how to, if he tried.

"Oh so _now_ you use your brain. I was wondering how long I could fool you. I _know_ you must have done your reading, Stiles. _You_ always do after all. You must know what I want. Really, I'm disappointed you didn't see it before." The voice is cold, mocking and wrong, so wrong coming out of Scott's mouth.

Stiles tries to straighten up, but slumps back against the table with another low cry of pain.

He grits his teeth. Keep it talking. Keep it distracted. Keep it busy. Once Kira or Deaton get in here they might have a chance.

"Chaos. Strife. Pain. The three food groups of a balanced Nogitsune diet." Stiles scoffs. "Yeah, I know what you want. You went to see Isaac before school, didn't you? And then of course there was Coach, and that deputy at the station. And now here I am. Was that part of the plan too, by the way? Kill me and get a meal out of it at the same time?" Because he will die of this. There's no way around it. Humans don't get stabbed through the liver and live to see another day.

There is true amusement in the laugh that question gets him. It almost sounds like the real Scott, so much so that is sends a shiver down Stiles' spine. He's dying in agony and his best friend is there, but there can be no comfort in the thought because it isn't actually Scott.

"Oh no, we never planned your death. No, you're far too interesting to play with to just let you die like this. So much wasted potential. In fact…" it bares Scott's teeth at him, let's them slowly extend into fangs. Scott's eyes flicker between alpha red and twisted silver and if Stiles could he would run now because he realises that no matter what else, this thing really isn't done with him yet.

"Oh but not yet. I never say no to a free meal. And since you offered it so nicely."

A clawed hand molds itself to Stiles' temple, sharp pinpricks resting on the back of his head, but he almost doesn't feel them because Scott's other hand has wrapped itself around the hilt of the sword and Stiles _knows_ what will happen next _._ The fox doesn't even bother to hide its intentions.

"Please don't." he doesn't care that he's begging, that it's useless. He's terrified. "Please just. Don't do- AHHHHHRAAAHHH!"

Scott's hand twists the blade sharply, draws it out a little only to thrust it right back in, at a different angle. Every move drives new screams of agony out of Stiles mouth.

He's babbling, when he's not screaming. His throat is already raw, but he can't help it. Pleas and curses fall from his lips, begging Scott to stop while wishing nothing but death on the Nogitsune at the same time.

When it finally lets go, Stiles is panting. Distantly he hears the sound of dripping fluid and wonders if it's rainwater or his blood. Probably both.

This is the worst pain he has ever felt. Every nerve is alight with torment. He's used the expression of 'it feels like being stabbed' before, but he'd had no idea. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to do that to his father, to Lydia and Allison and - God - to _Scott_. But it would mean this pain would end and right now he'd take anything. Any sort of relief at all.

"Please," he begs again even though it's useless. "No more."

The fox grins triumphantly and digs Scott's claws into Stiles' head. The pain is trivial compared to, well, everything else and it's gone almost immediately.

This is different from when Scott takes his pain. That is what Stiles realizes first. With Scott it feels like a twinge, a bit warm and then there's comforting, blessed relief. He has only felt it once so far when he'd cut himself while cutting onions when he and Scott had been cooking.

With the Nogitsune, the pain it's drawing from him races like acid through his veins and when it's gone, it's replaced by a freezing emptiness that feels like decay - numb and cold.

Stiles thinks he'd like to pass out now.

"Oh no we're not done yet. You know I wonder why you never asked for the bite, weak, defenseless, little human that you are. He'd have given it, you know? He's thought about it a lot. About biting you and turning you, how pretty your eyes would look in gold. Personally I prefer silver of course." Scott's face is so close to his now that Stiles could count his eyelashes if he wasn't so busy trying not the get murdered. The Nogitsune's breath is cold as ice against his cheek and Stiles cannot suppress a shudder.

He tries to get away, but the claws in his scalp and the table at his back prevent him from moving.

"He's thought about binding you to him, like Peter had bound him before. He has one half-formed connection and so he craves more. Wolves. Always so disgustingly dependant."

Stiles shakes his head. He doesn't believe a word of it, and even if he did it doesn't matter. Scott had never asked and Stiles knows Scott would never force him, never press, never even bring it up because he knows Stiles doesn't want it. Stiles trusts Scott implicitly. The Nogitsune however-

Stiles shakes his head again, more vigorous this time. "I don't want it."

The bloodthirsty smirk on Scott's lips doesn't belong there, but that doesn't make it any less real or any less dangerous. The fox leans forward even more and Scott's voice whispers in his ear.

" _I don't care."_

He thought of being stabbed was painful. It turns out being bitten is worse.


End file.
